I can’t move anything, it’s so miserable
My hands, feet and eyes are captured by darkness

On a good day, everything was taken from me
I even lost my laughter, I’m frozen, I can’t live like this
I can’t do anything alone so just leave me
Everything’s the same, except me, it’s all tainted


What a fool you are, for hurting the girl... You know exactly who you are.
In the town park, a man shuffles through the bushes. He examines each new plant carefully, checking them against his extensive guide. One in particular catches his eye: low to the ground, pale branches, black dots… Digging through his satchel, he finds a mortar and pestle, and begins grinding leaves. The work is so fulfilling he nearly loses himself in it, until a blaring siren snaps him back to reality. Frustrated, he moves to a quieter space, only to hear another siren. And another, and another.
The procession of police cruisers flood the shabby streets, painting every house in reds and blues. One pulls over next to a quaint bungalow in an old part of town, and the rest of the cars form up around it, unloading officers in strict order. From the looks of it, the town’s entire police force is in attendance, or close to it. After everyone has parked, Zange shuffles out of the lead car and turns to the crowd. In the dim light, her skin looks unearthly pale. She gestures vaguely to one of the officers, who nods back before leading a small team onto the property.
You can’t have great ramen without great ingredients. Musing to himself, Superchao takes his first bite of cup noodles. Lot of peas on that bite. Nice. The taste puts him into a jovial mood as he searches through his case notes. Kright. Young, reclusive, unemployed. No priors. Completely clean criminal record. Runs some sort web log about locomotion. Superchao’s trained detective mind begins piecing together a profile. Someone would get sent to this guy’s house anyway, given the shitshow that just happened there, but this could be ground-breaking. Just as he’s about to head out, Superchao is distracted by an intense din of police sirens, louder than he’s ever heard in his life.
Having narrowly escaped death, Elyk has found a new appreciation for life. The moment he returns home, he locks every door and window in his house, double- and triple-checking that they’re tight and secure. He then begins shoving furniture in the way of his front door. An unstable wardrobe gives him pause – wouldn’t want it to tip over – and he evaluates his work. Satisfied, he retreats to his bedroom and pulls some anime figures off his wall.

“Hibiki, no! If you push yourself any harder, you’ll-“ Kyle puts on a high voice as he wiggles one of his figures through the air.

“This is no time to think of consequences!”

With careful precision, Kyle returns a character to its stand, and reaches for the powered up version of the same.
… Click. … Click. Nothing decent seems to come up on Fun with Despair’s shuffle. As he cuts through a narrow forest trail, Despair wonders if he should just make a playlist for nights like these. They require a certain mood. The increasingly intense sirens urge him forward, and he discards the thought. Finally, he reaches a clearing, and sees what appears to be every police car in town. Surveying the scene, he notices Jetamo weaving between cars, a small wooden cup cradled in his hands.

Jet walks onto the surrounded property, and a young policeman steps out of line to intervene. A pained grunt from Zange urges him back into position. Kneeling to meet her, Jetamo holds out his brew. The colour is a greenish-brownish-whitish swirl, milky yet light. Zange nearly vomits at the smell, but manages to slowly imbibe the whole drink with Jet’s help.
There’s a sort of peace in death, StirlADrei decides. Most people don’t enjoy life, right? Certainly, many of his former targets didn’t. Struggling each day to survive, being used and abused. It’s shitty, isn’t it? His life hasn’t been so bad. The parties are great. The work is decent. The pay cheques are really fucking nice. But it’s all sort of pointless, in the grand scheme of things. All things return to cosmic dust, as they were tens of billions of years ago. Or something like that. He usually leaves his hotel room trashed – the safety deposit isn’t worth getting back – but tonight it looks cleaner than he found it. Is death clean? Or dirty? He’s seen evidence of both, but it’s difficult to decide which way it leans. This line of thought could go on all night. Well, maybe not all night.
A strange mix of emotions swirl in Superchao’s head when the police kick his door in. He thinks he sees Kenji, an old friend, though they haven’t talked much since Superchao moved departments. Kenji looks mad. Then again, it might not be Kenji. There’s a guy that looks just like Kenji, Superchao sees him in the office sometimes, and always gets them confused. Whoever the guy is, he pulls his sidearm immediately and shouts the standard rights speech. If you say the same thing over and over again, it starts to just become meaningless sound. Superchao is used to tuning this speech out, but he’s hearing it in a new light today, being on the receiving end. Behind the guy who may or may not be Kenji, a line of boys in blue stand guard. A bit behind them, there’s another line, and so on for what seems like forever.

Whoops, thinks Superchao to himself, I was spacing out a bit. Returning to reality, he complies with the officer’s demands and walks, in cuffs, to a parked cruiser. Zange is on his front lawn, sitting near a pile of red vomit. Jetamo’s there too, just behind her. And there’s Fun with Despair across the street, skulking in the bushes. Weird guy, that one. An officer who is definitely not Kenji slams the door on Superchao, and drives him back to the station.

@Superchao was arrested. He was an important detective investigating the Kira case, tracking potential suspects.
As her strength fades, Zange lies down on the grass, resting her head comfortably on her hands. Jetamo has been reading and rereading his survival guide non-stop, reciting any passage he finds on poisons. Food poisoning can occur when one is forced to consume meals to which they are unaccustomed. Though many believe snakes carry a deadly poison, it is in fact a venom. Poison ivy is an irritant, producing an uncomfortable rash upon the point of contact. Zange’s body shakes one last time. An officer on stand-by comes to check her pulse, and confirms her passing.

@Zange is dead. She was L.

Kira wins. The results thread will be posted tomorrow.
Barack Obama
[Image: 2wFaQHa.jpg]
Fun With Despair
Baby Sans Thanos
Hahahaha... ahahahahaha!

I did it! I won!

Bites the Dust activated... and now I have acquired what I've been most wanting! A quiet life in where nobody will come after me! I am the true winner!

The very first night... I came up with a plan to stop anyone from seeking after me.

All I needed to do was make it look like an accident, and nobody would suspect of me being the true Kira all along!

But... still, there's something off...

What are all those... things?


True Fate:

.̸͎̲̼̣̙̖̄̽̍̈́̋͑̐̌̌̿̍̀͆̇͠͝͠.̴̢̼̫̫̤͔̦͓̯̤̰̓̆̈́̿̋̈́̅ͅ.̶̢̛͕̰͖͔̪̤̰͖̼̯͍͕͐̓̍͆̑̑̄̓̂̿́̌̓̚͜͠w̶̧̡̱̣͔̣̪͈̩̮͎̠̜̥͋͋́͐̍ͅḧ̵̛̠̝̟̞̣̠̣͆̍̎͑̒̇̍̌̈́̃̽͜͝͝e̷̢͍͉͙̜̺͈͕̭̙̔̈́͊̀̓r̵̨̨̨̢̺̙̞̙̭̦̎̌̓͑̌̑̀̑̕ę̶̙̱̺̫̪̱̖͚͕͕̬̘̝̩̬̯̝̍̎͐́̾͌͗̑̇̈́͐̈̆͝.̸̨̢̧̤̗̫̺̠̥͓͇̬͕̪́̀͛̃͆͜.̵͍̩̪̈́̆̇͐̑.̸̻̘̬͓̘̺̗̤͈͚̗̒̋́́̐͋͘͜͝ ̵̰͚̤̭͕̮͑̅̆̊̈̕á̸̧̧̧̲͎͖̞̠̣̖̗̣̤̠̤̣̊̌͗͛͐̀̃̓̊͒͘m̶̢̢̛̖̘̹̳͓̓̾̄̓̊́̀̉̾̉̐̌͊̃̓̕ ̴̨͉͖̘͉̰̙̬͂̾̾̀̐́͆͜I̶̢͚̘͍̞̖͇͑̄ ̸͎̗͓͗̽g̷͎͙̖̦̙̤̓̀͑̄̑̍̊̆͐̅̂̂͝͠o̶͍̤͚͛͋͂̅̆̀̾̕̕͜͝ȉ̷̻͍͙͙̮͔̦͙̺͇́͋͠n̸̨̡̛̬͓̲̄̅̓̓̄͛͛̉͒͗̐̿̿̚͠͠͝g̶̛͈̻̪̜͈͎̬̟̱͙̖̱̻͖̉̀̓̒̑͛̇͝.̴̀̀̋̾́̐͋͂̓̅̚͜͜͝.̷̨͔̟̲͈͓̟̱͍̙̹͚̰̬̥̼̱̑̓͋͋̀̔̈́͌͠͠.̶̥̫̦͈̍́̂̃̚?̴̛͕͇͖̥̺̪͈̌̋͒͛̔̈́̅͘̕
[Image: Zm6C7NV.gif]

Users browsing this thread:

Forum Jump: